


Before He Cheats

by childofthemuses



Series: Something In The Water [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Keith (Voltron), Basically plot to get us to the smut, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Car Sex, Carrie Underwood - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, James is a bad dude..., M/M, Oral Sex, Police Officer Lance (Voltron), Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Sex on a Car, Smut, Some Plot, Sorry Jaith Shippers..., Top Lance (Voltron), brat keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofthemuses/pseuds/childofthemuses
Summary: When growing up, Keith's Mamma taught him 2 things:1) Don't take shit lying down.2) Don't get caught.Inspired by Carrie Underwood's song 'Before He Cheats'.
Relationships: James Griffin/Keith (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Klance - Relationship
Series: Something In The Water [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877017
Comments: 10
Kudos: 341





	Before He Cheats

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS.  
> It's been so long (too long?) since I wrote some smut.  
> But I woke up today with an idea so I figured I would bang one out (so to speak).  
> Title and inspiration from Carrie Underwood's ['Before He Cheats'!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaSy8yy-mr8), which is quite possibly the best break-up song of ALL time.  
> Basically, this au is: don't fuck Keith over.
> 
> PSA: possibly dubious consent. This work features kinks being used before thorough discussion and checking of eachother's boundaries. Technically there are also not 'safewords' as if anyone was to say NO that would call everything to a halt. They've also had a couple drinks, but I promise they're both cognisant and aware of their choices.  
> BASICALLY - possibly seen as dubious consent, but everyone is on board and happy with the sexing.

You know what?

The screeching of metal on metal as he drags his key across the paint, the popping _rip_ of leather as he artfully carves ‘FUCK YOU’ into the backseats, the cracking crunch of the windscreen as glass fractured out in a spiderweb from where the heel of his boot slammed against it…

It was almost – _almost –_ enough to make up for the whole ‘James’ ordeal.

He lowered his foot back to his side and began to jump, slamming his soles into the bonnet and doing his best to dent the sheet of metal, the truck’s suspension bouncing along with him as it groaned in protest.

Hey, he did only say _almost…_

By the time the drunkards within the bar have thought to pay attention to the blaring klaxon of the truck’s horn screaming for help, Keith is standing across the parking lot smoking a cigarette and doing his best to look just as smug as he feels.

“What the _fuck?!”_ Comes the cry he’s been waiting for, and he grins as James storms through the curious crowd and wails like a heartbroken mother as he sees the state his truck is in.

Tires slashed. Leather shredded to jerky. Windows reduced to shards and chunks. And, Keith is pleased to report, one large dent in the centre of the bonnet right where his Dr Martens had landed.

It’s truly a work of art.

Keith finally lets his laughter burst out, throwing his head back and laughing until he honestly thinks he’s about to pass out and hit the asphalt. The laughter doesn’t go unnoticed, James’ head whipping around to glare at him in seething anger as he puts two and two together.

His latest piece of ass is hanging off his arm, asking what was going on in an accent that could only be described as ‘White Trash’.

But James doesn’t hear her, seeming cut off from every other sense as he stares Keith down and watches him laugh, his beloved truck shattered to pieces and his slighted ex-boyfriend enjoying every minute of it.

“You fucking _bitch-!”_ He screams and begins to come towards Keith, only for his primal war scream to be interrupted by the flash of red and blue lights and the appearance of one of the county’s police cars pulling into the carpark. James instantly stills, knowing better than to try and throttle Keith in front of those charged with the upkeep of law and order.

The cruiser parks up in the centre of the parking lot, two officers stepping out into the lamp-lit area and eyeing up the gathered crowd.

One is large in all senses of the word: taller than Keith, wider with Keith, build like a tank and fringe held off of his forehead by an orange headband. “We received a call about vandalism,” He announces in case anyone couldn’t have guessed why they had appeared. “What seems to be the problem?”

As James splutters and tries to contain his anger long enough to explain the situation, Keith is appraising the other officer from his toes all the way to the top of his very pretty head.

_Pretty_ is an understatement.

He thinks he’s Puerto Rican or Cuban, his skin a gorgeous darkened brown with brunette hair cropped short and intense blue eyes that scan the area around him for possible sources of danger. It’s honestly such a shame that he looks as good as he does in his uniform, because all that Keith can imagine is ripping it off to see how it looks on his bedroom floor.

Officer Hot-Beyond-Belief turns, giving Keith a view of an ass so perfect he could cry, before joining his partner who is busy taking notes of James’ story.

“He’s there!” James screams, pointing an accusatory finger towards Keith who is making sure to relish the final draws of his cigarette. “That’s him, officers. The fucking _whore_ that wrecked my truck!”

“I’ll ask you to watch your language, sir,” Officer Too-Beautiful-For-This-World warns, and Keith could swoon at the authoritative tone he uses. “Just calm down and explain what happened.”

“Just look at his smug face!” James cries, “He’s loving every second of this!”

The officers look over their shoulders, taking in Keith’s unwavering gaze as he finishes his cigarette and flicks the butt away, giving the pair of them a little wave.

“Finish taking his statement,” Officer Call-Me-Georgia-Because-My-Ass-Is-A-Peach says to his partner before turning and walking towards Keith, taking his own notebook from his breast pocket and clearing his throat.

He tries to hide it, but Keith catches the sharp glint in his eyes as he eyes up Keith’s pale, muscular legs below his short denim shorts. Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

“Kogane,” Keith supplies, eyeing up the name badge on the officer’s shirt. “But you can call me Keith if you’d like us on a first-name basis, Officer _McClain.”_

McClain chuckles, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk, noting down the name on his notepad but not taking Keith up on his offer. “So, Mr Kogane, care to enlighten me as to what has taken place this evening?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Keith says, feigning ignorance despite the destroyed truck sitting in plain view.

“Mr Griffin believes you know something about the damage to his property,” The officer says with a level voice, all business and getting to the facts. “Do you?”

“Why, no sir,” Keith says too sweetly, batting his eyelashes at the officer. “I just came out here for a smoke, and suddenly I’m being screamed at by that asshole.”

“And how do you know Mr Griffin?”

Keith’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the memory as he says, “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“Ex?” McClain asks with what looks like hope in his eyes – though it’s best to assume that idea is due to Keith is reading the situation with his dick rather than his head.

“If I could add more prefixes to the word I would,” Keith tells him, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Things end badly?” McClain presses, and Keith snorts.

“Depends if you think fucking around behind my back with any pair of legs that will open for him and giving me an STI constitutes things ‘ending badly’?” But Keith grins, teeth sharp and dangerous in the low light of the evening and letting his gaze turn heavy. “But don’t worry, I'm squeaky clean now.”

McClain’s face is frustratingly impassive as he jots down the recent information of a bad break-up, refusing to acknowledge how Keith’s words drip heavy with suggestion.

“He sounds like a piece of work,” The officer says carefully, eyes flicking up to meet Keith’s. “If it was me, I’d be pissed.”

“Well, good thing you’re not me,” Keith says, tossing his head to move his fringe out of his eyes. “I’m a saint: forgive and forget, that’s what I always say.”

And, oh, McClain goddamn _smiles:_ eyes crinkling, dimples popping, the slightest peek of white teeth behind lips that Keith can practically imagine kissing already. He smiles and Keith feels like he’s been shot, feeling weak at the knees as – he’s definitely not imagining it – the officer drags his eyes down Keith’s body with a heavy lust in those baby blues.

“You sure look like a sinner to me,” McClain says, his voice dropping low and gravelly and raising goosebumps on Keith’s arms. He feels more confident to push now the officer is giving him something to work with, finally seeming to pick up what Keith is not-so-subtly putting down.

That is, until the heated moment is ruined by an angry shout and the sound of running feet. Keith peers over McClain’s shoulder to see James tearing towards them with his eyes practically burning with bloodlust, the other officer turning to take after him but moving too slowly to stop him now.

Keith feels his stance shift to something more grounded as he prepares himself for James to barrel straight into him, but blinking in surprise as McClain makes what seems to be the slightest of moves and suddenly James is being pressed up against a wall as the officer handcuffs his wrists behind his back. Keith is shocked, replaying the moment and trying to work out where McClain moved and how he subdued James so easily.

“I think someone is in need of our drunk tank to come to his senses,” McClain says to his partner – Garrett, now he’s close enough for Keith to read his name tag.

“Get the fuck off me-” James grunts, struggling in the officer’s hold but not making a lick of difference.

“Come on, buddy,” McClain says in a sing-song voice, hauling James up and walking him back towards the cruiser.

Keith smirks to himself, reaching to light up a victory cigarette before the walk home, but is stopped by a sharp whistle through pursed lips as he settles the butt in his mouth. McClain nods his head towards the car, calling back, “If you would be so kind as to come with us, Mr Kogane, I think we have a few more questions for you to answer.”

Keith considers making a break for it, frankly not in the mood to spend the night in the police station, but one head points out they have his name and could easily track him down, while the other isn’t quite ready for McClain to disappear so swiftly.

Whatever train of thought he listens to doesn’t matter as he stows his cigarette and walks towards the cruiser.

*****

The drive to the station was…entertaining, to say the least.

Keith had to sit in the backseat alongside a glaring James, still cuffed with his hands behind him and looking about ready to tear Keith’s throat out with his teeth. Keith took the opportunity to wind James up with the smuggest look he could, saying, “Hey, sweetie,” and blowing him a kiss as he settled in the seat.

The two officers chatted easily amongst themselves as they drove, not paying any mind to the rising irritation in James as Keith silently goaded him.

Parking outside the station, Garrett opened the door and wrestled a still-struggling James out of the backseat, using his stronger build to easily steer the man into the station to be unceremoniously dumped in the drunk tank.

Keith, on the other hand, was greeted with outstretched fingers as his door was opened, McClain standing there like an old-age gentleman waiting to help him out of the car. Keith accepted the offer, gripping his fingers and rising from the backseat as gracefully as possible.

Then, they had gone inside, and everything had turned _boring._

“So you didn’t cause the damage to his car?” McClain rephrases the question for the umpteenth time, as if expecting Keith to make a stupid mistake and accidentally confess.

“No,” He said bluntly, elbow on McClain’s desk and head in his hands. It was getting late now, and while destroying James’ truck had been fun at the time he was ready to be home and in bed.

“Never wanted revenge,” McClain asks, eyes watching Keith’s expression meticulously, “Even with the awful way he treated you?”

“Not once,” Keith says, holding the officer’s steady gaze.

“No one would blame you if you did,” McClain says easily, jotting down Keith’s claims of innocence.

“ _James_ seems to,” Keith smirks. “Maybe a county judge too? Imagine that, an innocent flower like me being charged to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.”

McClain laughs at that, a bright noise that seems to perk Keith right back up. It seemed the officer didn’t believe his words for a second, but seemed fond of his attitude and wasn't willing to press the matter. “The bar has CCTV, you know? We’ll of course need to check the tapes – might work out better for you to tell the truth than tell us something contradictory.” The words seemed more of a warning for Keith’s own well-being than a coercion tactic, like he didn’t want him getting in even more trouble by being caught in a lie.

“Oh, really?” He says, batting falsely-innocent eyelashes, “Because, last I heard, it’s cheaper to just install something that _looks_ like a camera rather than install the actual thing.”

Keith wasn’t stupid. His mamma may have raised him to never take shit from those who had slighted him and to give as good as he got, but to do so with enough sense that he got to teach them a lesson _and_ keep his hands clean. A good friend of his worked in the bar, and he had it on good authority that anything that happened in the carpark was doomed to an unknown fate of speculation. Without an eye witness all they had was motive, and Keith was lucky enough that James was well known around these parts for being an asshole: he had plenty of enemies with plenty of motives of their own.

What about forensics, you may ask?

Their county was in the arse-end of nowhere: this wasn’t CSI fucking Miami. It wasn’t like someone had been murdered in the parking lot: some asshole’s gas-guzzling, redneck truck had been vandalised. Frankly the case didn’t warrant the time they had already spent on it, let alone _more._

McClain could see just how sure of himself Keith was, the accused almost _daring_ him to try and implicate him for the damage, but instead the officer just chuckles to himself and shakes his head, peering through eyelashes to ask, “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Keith grins toothily, a primal look that could almost be read as a challenge. “Will that be all, _officer?_ It’s getting awful late.”

McClain leans back in his chair, silently weighing up whether or not to grant Keith his freedom before shrugging. “Frankly,” He smirks, “You seem like a perfect law-abiding citizen.” The sarcasm is heavy as he speaks, and Keith fights the urge to burst out laughing at his chosen words. McClain extends a hand towards him and Keith grasps it in a brief shake, McClain’s gaze heavy as he says, “Sorry to take up your time.”

McClain stands and guides Keith back to the front doors, ducking to whisper in Keith’s ear before he can leave, “Try not to cause too much trouble out there.”

Leaving the police station Keith stops to finally light his cigarette, ignoring the goosebumps on his neck and watching the glass doors: he found himself wondering about the officer. Usually Keith’s attitude and general aura of ‘delinquent’ had authority figures bristling just from standing near him, let alone making it through a whole conversation. This officer McClain’s mocking, almost-teasing response to him was interesting to say the least.

But despite the evening’s antics, he needed to get home to catch some sleep before work in the morning. So, with one last lingering look, he turned and began the walk home, leaving a cloud of smoke trailing behind him as he relished the horrified look on James’ face when he had seen his truck.

*****

It turns out that his satisfaction from damaging James’ truck could only last so long. For the following week Keith was in an unseasonably good mood, constantly replaying the memory of cracking glass and screeching metal at his own hands, that look on James’ face. It left him feeling so damn good, teaching someone what happens when you messed with the wrong man.

That is, until Keith walked past a parked truck on his way home that made him stop in his tracks.

Pristine windshield, immaculate body paint, reupholstered seats inside.

Keith looked over the truck and that satisfaction turned to bitter ash on his tongue, James clearly not wasting a second to get the stupid thing fixed up as soon as possible.

Keith made himself continue marching home before he could hang around long enough to act impulsively and jump on the truck then and there: something told him he wouldn’t be able to weasel his way out of being charged a second time around, especially if doing so in the middle of the fucking street.

But the irritation seethed and lashed beneath his skin: he had thought the only way to hurt James was to wreck that stupid truck, the man himself heartless and without a personal sense of morality. Keith honestly couldn’t understand why he had been with him in the first place-

(It might have had something to do with that same heartlessness and lack of morality. But hey, Keith wasn’t trying to analyse his poor choice in men right now).

Yet James could cover up that damage with a flash of cash and a new lick of paint, his truck good as new while Keith still seethed, his thirst for vengeance not yet quenched.

He wanted to do something that would _hurt._ Something that, no matter how much money James threw at the problem, he would never be able to get the image out of his mind.

But _what?_

_*****_

That good mood of Keith’s was long gone as he spent the coming days trying to work out what he could do to hit James as deep as his betrayal had hit Keith. He had left Keith feeling humiliated and stupid at allowing himself to be made a fool of: he didn’t deserve to just get away with that.

Keith was two jack and cokes in and still nothing had come to mind: in fact, the only thing he had accomplished was to move his bill into double digits as he sat at the bar with a sour look on his face, his evening drawing ever closer to midnight with the looming threat of wasting another day with no ideas. Another day where James thought he could fuck around and get away with it.

He almost wished for James to walk through that door now with his latest piece of ass, just so Keith could turn and smack that arrogant smirk off of his face. Maybe the best way to get his own back was to actually _hurt_ James, put his hands on him the same way he did his truck and take his vengeance for himself, pry his self-worth back from the cold recesses of James’ chest.

Maybe two jack and cokes was enough…

He ordered a third.

He had just received his new drink when the voice was at his ear, raising goosebumps at the back of his neck as a low voice whispered, “You look like you’re up to no good.”

Placing the voice Keith kept himself in his seat instead of jumping in fright, idly stirring his drink as he answered over his shoulder, “Would you believe me if I told you that’s just how I look?”

Officer McClain slid onto the bar stool next to him with a graceful fluidity, making himself at home before signalling to the bartender, pointing at Keith’s drink and asking for two. “If you mean,” McClain says, turning his attention back on Keith, “Would I believe you’re always up to no good, I would have to say yes.”

Keith lets his mouth curl into a small smile but denies McClain an answer, instead making a blatant show of checking out the officer without his uniform and clearly appreciating the results.

Their drinks arrive and Lance hands over a couple of bills, enough to cover Keith’s entire tab and telling the bartender to keep the change. Keith raises a silent brow, suspecting this was a show of generosity to try and impress Keith.

Lance rolls his eyes at Keith’s suspicions, “I used to work in a bar: I know what they’re going through.”

“Bar tender turned upholder of the law,” Keith says playfully. “You must have a fascinating origin story, Officer McClain.”

“Please,” He says, that damned half-cocked smile managing to twist Keith’s guts into knots. “Call me Lance.”

“Well, _Lance,”_ Keith says, trying out the sound of the name on his tongue. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Tell me, did you ever catch the awful person that vandalised my ex-boyfriend’s truck last weekend?”

“Unfortunately not,” Lance says, but they both know that Keith is not surprised by the answer. “No witnesses, no video footage. Really, all we have to go on is an angry jackass and an ex-partner who seems to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Pity,” Keith says, but his voice holds no sympathy. “Not to worry though, seems like the damage was easily fixed.” At this Keith’s voice is bitter as he gulps down one of his drinks, unable to escape that burning anger in his gut that James could just move on and get away with what he had done.

“Not easy to teach someone like that a lesson,” Lance sympathises, watching him out the corner of his eye. “Hard to make a lasting impression when they clearly don’t give a damn.”

Keith hums in agreement, staring straight ahead into nothingness as he searches for the answer to quell the raging wildfire in his chest.

“How long were you two together?” Lance asks.

“Too long,” Is all Keith answers. In the grand scheme of things, he knows that 6 months isn’t anything ground-breaking. However, it kind of had been for him. Not only the fact that he had lasted that long, but the fact he had been systematically working on lowering his guards and slowly let that jerk in. It made it all the more worse when it inevitably blew up in Keith’s face, the fact that he had ignored his instinct to panic and push away ignored so that he could _try._

Serves him right.

“He seems like a real piece of shit,” Lance says, wrinkling his nose at the memory of the arrogant drunk from the week before before taking a drink. “You’re better off without.”

At this Keith scowls and glares at the officer, telling him plainly, “I don’t need someone to point that out for me.”

Lance raises his hands in instant surrender, not meaning to have hit the nerve he did. “I didn’t mean any offence by that,” He says earnestly and, for some reason, Keith believes him. “I know what it’s like to get fucked over by someone.”

“Now if only I could fuck him over back,” Keith says wistfully, battering back his knee-jerk defensive anger that told him to cut the officer off and just leave.

“You should do it classic telenovela style,” Lance says offhand. “Drama and pettiness,” He brings his fingertips to his lips before executing an overdramatic chef’s kiss, “Bellissimo!”

Lance looks to Keith for a reaction – he at _least_ expected an obligatory forced chuckle – only to find his face blank and confused.

Lance raised a brow, begging, “Please tell me you know what a telenovela is?”

No reaction.

“What?!” Lance practically screams, drawing attention from nearby tables and making Keith’s cheeks turn pink with the unwanted attention.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV,” Keith says defensively, turning his back to firmly block the curious glances from his mind.

“You’re missing out,” Lance says longingly. “If this were a telenovela, the reasonable answer would be to murder him and take his life for yourself!”

Keith looked at him with wide eyes, “You know you’re a cop right?”

Lance laughs. “I’m just saying that’s what they would likely do on TV – at the _very_ least you would have sex with someone he cares about: that would be sure to drive him crazy.”

Keith rolls his eyes, waving off Lance’s suggestion. “A straight forward idea with a predictable and favourable outcome. But, unfortunately, James doesn’t care about anyone but himself. The only thing he even _remotely_ cares about is-”

Keith cuts his train of thought off sharply as an idea comes to him, eyes dropping as he considered if it was a good or bad idea.

Lance was hooked by his contemplative silence, looking expectantly for an answer to Keith’s voice cutting out. “I was wrong before,” He said, watching Keith carefully. “ _Now_ you look up to no good.”

“I’ve got to go,” Keith says hastily and slips from the bar stool with little warning. “Thanks for the drinks,” He says, nodding to the jack and coke Lance had ordered from him that he hadn’t even touched.

Keith rushes away and Lance watches him go, taking the remaining jack and coke and draining it in three large gulps before shrugging on his jacket and following after Keith.

*****

This was probably a stupid idea. An idiotic, stupid idea that wouldn’t get the rage and hurt out of his chest.

But Keith couldn’t shake the idea as he stomped along the road with a clear destination in mind: he had always been impulsive, and as soon as he even considered this could fix him he was acting on it. This could be what he needed to take that piece of himself back from James: he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.

One silver-lining to wasting 6 months of his life on James was that he knew the fucker’s schedule. Friday nights were for hitting a local bar before selfishly driving home under the influence. But Saturdays? Saturday’s were for heading into the city to spend the evening and way too much money in a nightclub of pounding bass and flashing lights before vomiting in the street and stumbling into a taxi for an extortionate lift home in the early hours of the morning. Which meant…

The truck was home alone, sitting out in the drive to James’ house which was luckily located on the outskirts of town and away from any prying eyes.

His mamma had taught him to keep his hands clean, remember? He was angry, not outright stupid.

For a moment he stands at the end of the drive, looking up at the dark house he had slept in often over the last 6 months. The house where he had entered after being sent home sick with the flu and found James rolling around the sheets with a tight-assed bimbo with hair that was far too big for her.

Did you know one of the signs of syphilis are flu-like symptoms?

Keith certainly hadn’t – it was the itchy rash that tipped him off that he needed to make a doctor's appointment.

And just like that he’s angry all over again, the stupid memory rearing his head and stoking his fire for vengeance. With little thought he drops to the ground and crawls under the car, locating the wire that connects to the car alarm before slicing through it easily with his knife: he planned on enjoying himself _without_ a blaring horn and flashing lights drawing attention.

As he crawled out from under the car he could feel it, the growing hardness in his underwear. His thirst for revenge was flowing through his veins, every cell in his body screaming for justice and setting him alight.

He stood and put a steadying hand on the bonnet, his other hand dropping to palm himself through his jeans and wind himself up further. He nibbled at his lip to stave off a groan at the friction of his denim shorts against his crotch. There were only fields and hedges around the house, but he still felt exposed and vulnerable to stand in plain view and touch himself like this. Yet, there was an excitement there that he never expected: a burning heat at the idea of being seen, being _caught_.

The idea made him rub himself harder, ready to undo the button to his shorts and pull himself out-

Instead, he jumps in surprise as a firm hand grips his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back so he bends and ends up with his chest pressed into the bonnet. He hisses in pain at the angle of his arm, beginning to struggle as feels cool metal wrap around his wrist before hearing a definitive click of a lock.

He is held firm, his struggling for nought, as his other arm is pulled to his back and handcuffed as well, his wrists held and locked firmly behind him.

Keith is silent, the front of his body pressed to the car as a heavy hand presses between his shoulder blades to keep him down.

“ _Now_ ,” His guest whispers, a tall body leaning down to engulf Keith’s below it, “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Keith hears Lance’s voice and he swears, struggling to stand all over again but Lance isn’t having any of it. He just keeps Keith pinned to the bonnet until he tires himself out.

“Fine,” Keith growls, figuring to own up somewhat to his plan since he had been caught red handed. “I was going to mess James’ truck up again – you got me.”

But Lance doesn’t answer him, doesn’t let him stand, just keeps exacting that same pressure in the centre of his back until suddenly there’s a hand over his crotch, pressing down onto his hard cock that he had been working up. “Didn’t look like you were going to trash the truck again,” Lance says, noting how hard Keith bites into his lip as he still presses at his crotch, the hard outline of his cock clear even through the denim. “What _exactly_ were you up to?”

Keith bites his lip even harder, cheeks flushing red with humiliation at being caught with his hands down his pants: he isn’t sure he could survive voicing his intentions out loud.

Lance doesn’t seem set on giving him the choice though, if the sharp spank to his ass cheek is anything to go by, some of Lance’s palm managing to strike skin exposed by the obscenely short shorts.

“I expect an answer,” Lance growls in his ear, donning that voice full of authority that makes Keith skin crawl in arousal, the resulting anxiety of being caught doing something bad sparking and lighting to add to the fire already burning with lust.

Another spank and Keith can’t stop the moan that falls out his mouth when he loses his hold on his lower lip, trembling and needing Lance to do more than _paw him through his goddamned shorts-_

“You were really going to ‘mess’ up your ex-boyfriend’s truck, weren’t you?” Lance asks, hitting the nail on the head and not needing Keith to verbally confirm to know he’s right. “You know I’m a cop: I should arrest you and take you down to the station.”

The trembling doesn’t abate in Keith’s body, but it’s not in fear: it’s in anticipation. There’s something in the air, something intoxicating that’s winding him tight as a bowstring.

The bowstring snaps with Lance’s hand groping his ass with greedy fingers, squeezing it tight enough to bruise as he leans in close and says into Keith’s ear, “Good thing for you, I’m off duty.”

“F-fuck,” Keith breathes out as Lance redirects both his hands to fondling Keith’s ass, leaving Keith free to stand yet he remains where Lance put him, feeling as though he has been silently ordered to stay. He can’t see the perverted grin on Lance’s face behind him as he squeezed and kneads Keith’s ass, reaching one of his hands forward and unbuttoning Keith’s shorts, pulling the zip down and slipping a hand down into Keith’s crotch.

Fingers trace over Keith’s cock and he groans, bucking his hips forward to try and get more friction as Lance hisses in his ear, “Not even wearing panties: you really _are_ a little whore, aren’t you?”

Keith nods, already growing breathless as his shorts are roughly pushed down his thighs to pool pathetically around his ankles, leaving him half-naked outside in the open breeze. If anyone happened to come along this road right now they would get a full view of Keith’s most intimate areas, and it escapes neither his nor Lance’s notice as his cock twitches in excitement.

“You like being played with, little whore?” Lance asks, standing back to appreciate the view of Keith cuffed and bent over the truck’s bonnet. “Kick off those shorts and really spread those legs for me: give me a good view.”

The growl of Lance’s voice is intoxicating, stoking a fire in his belly as Keith does as he’s told, spreading his legs wide so Lance can see his ass in its full glory, the fall of his balls between his legs. Lance reaches down and grabs Keith’s ass cheeks again, spreading them with his fingers and taking a long, hard look at Keith’s asshole.

The hairs on the back of Keith’s neck raise as he feels Lance’s eyes on him, appraising him, and gasping a shuddering breath as Lance spits onto his hole, the wetness cooling quickly and dripping down.

Lance takes a thumb and swipes it through the spit before pressing it to Keith’s hole and testing it’s tightness. His eyes widen as his thumb slips in with little to no resistance, even without lube. “You been fingering yourself today, little slut?”

Keith squirms as Lance teases his thumb just enough to have his rim open around it before pulling back. “Just- just a little,” Keith breathes, wanting to press back even to get that lone digit inside of him but Lance’s other hand holds his hip and presses him firmly against the truck.

“A _little?”_ Lance scoffs, a shiver passing down Keith’s spine. “Your slutty little whole is practically sucking me in: are you that desperate for some cock?”

“F-fuck you,” Keith says, his cheeks blazing red from Lance’s words, only growing harder by the second as Lance continues to talk to him like that.

“I thought you wanted to mess the big, bad ex-boyfriend’s truck up?” Lance asked, gauging Keith’s reaction. “Surely you’re not going to turn away my help?”

Truthfully, Keith had already forgotten his reason for coming here, Lance’s voice and hands completely derailing his train of thought so that all he could think about was the aching desperation in his cock to be touched and the _need_ for more than just the tip of Lance’s thumb in his ass.

Lance is smirking as he feels Keith trying to buck his hips back, trying to take Lance’s whole thumb but frustratingly being held still by Lance’s grip. “If you want more,” Lance says, “You need to _ask me_ for it.”

Keith squirms, too stubborn to ask for such things and expecting Lance to just wear down and give him what he wants. Lance stops giving him even the tip of his thumb, just tracing teasing rings around his rim and watching his hole flutter in a desperate need to be filled.

“ _Lance-”_ Keith whines, feeling a pearl of precum roll from the tip of his cock and down the shaft. He can’t take this teasing with just the barest of touches: he had always preferred fast and rough. But Lance was slowly and agonisingly building up the itch beneath his skin, leaving him squirming against the truck in a desperate bid for _more-_

“Ask,” Lance says firmly, his touch lightening even further in a silent threat.

Keith panics, unsure he could survive being fully denied what his body is now desperate for. “Fuck – Lance. Give me more than your goddamned thumb-” He growls, breaking off into a high keening note as suddenly a finger is pushed into him dry, all the way up to the knuckle. The burn is slight but delicious, melding with his arousal into a confusing medley where he’s desperate for more rough treatment.

“You’re a bit of a brat,” Lance remarks, Keith huffing under his breath but not speaking a word of complaint as he’s still enjoying the stretch of the finger, wiggling back to try and get it deeper. He hears the sound of a cap opening before there’s cold wetness now dripping over his hold, Lance moving his finger to spread the lube into Keith and making him keen with the movement. “I bet you would have let me fuck you dry – aren’t you glad some of us come prepared?”

Keith moans his answer as Lance presses another finger inside him, already scissoring the digits to stretch him and bring back that slight burn that feels so fucking good. Little huffs of breath keep falling from his mouth into the open night air, exposed for the whole world to see.

With a third finger opening Keith up further, Lance leans forward to kiss at his neck, Keith instantly presenting it to give him more room to work.

“It’s funny,” Lance remarks, peppering the area with kisses and loving every second of the strained expression on Keith’s face as he tries to keep himself under control. “You come off as this big tough guy with a bad attitude, but as long as someone puts something in your ass you quiet right down. Is that all it takes to make you behave?”

Keith is ready to snap back at him, he really is, but Lance chooses that particular moment to hit is prostate head on and Keith’s retort dissolves into a squeal, the truck now a support instead of a barrier.

When Lance removes his fingers he chuckles darkly as Keith whines, his head whipping round to glare at him while his ass clenches around empty air. “Hey-!”

“You want my cock?” Lance interrupts his complaint, Keith quietening and nodding. “Good – get on your knees and earn it.”

Keith shuffles back as quickly as he can, off-balance with his cuffed hands but getting onto his knees as quickly as he can, scraping his skin but not caring for the sting as Lance’s hand lowers the fly of his trousers.

Lance pauses as he takes in the expression on Keith’s face: the wide, begging eyes, the way his jaw is already slack and mouth falling open as though ready for cock to pass his lips. He wriggles on his knees, trying to get comfortable as his hard and flushed cock bobs and drips between his legs.

Lance lowers his waistband only enough to free his cock, looking far more dignified than Keith who sits, half-naked and squirming on the floor. He smirks as he brings his hips closer and Keith’s squirming completely stops, his mouth opening wide with a pink tongue hanging out. Lance runs his hands through Keith’s dark locks, tugging lightly to make him look away from the cock hanging in front of his waiting mouth.

He's mean, making such a desperate creature wait, but Lance loves every strained minute as Keith’s muscles lock to keep himself from surging forwards and swallowing Lance down. It’s endearing, in a way, that desperation.

Eventually Lance gives in and guides his head past those waiting lips, Keith instantly groaning around the taste of him before he starts to suck. He bobs his head, pulling against Lance’s grip in his hair to be able to take him right to the back of his throat, throat tightening and gagging around him. Lance’s head tips back in ecstasy as, even while choking, Keith pushes himself further, determined to take Lance to his root before hollowing his cheeks and slowly dragging his lips up the shaft. He lavishes Lance’s tip with licks and small sucks, head chasing after Lance’s cock without hands to steady it.

“Fuck,” Lance groans as Keith swallows him whole and doesn’t even gag this time. He runs his hand through that long dark hair, his grip long lost as Keith takes his cock for a ride. “You make a fucking good whore, Keith. James is an idiot for passing you up.”

Keith’s breath hitches at the praising, Lance’s words only spurring him on to push himself faster, harder, deeper, desperate to live up to the praise.

“Look at you,” Lance says wistfully, leaning heavily against the truck as Keith works to suck his soul straight out of his dick. “Such a perfect little slut for me – you want me to give you a good fucking?”

Keith tries to nod without stopping sucking, moaning around Lance and pulling another groan from his throat. Beneath Keith’s straining cock lies a puddle of precum, a steady stream having been falling from the tip as he grew more and more desperate the longer he went untouched.

“Can’t even stop to answer,” Lance muses with a shake of his head, pulling Keith off of his cock and helping him to his feet on shaky knees. For good measure Lance pumps Keith’s cock a few times, milking more pre from his tip and setting Keith squirming all over again.

“Do you want me to fuck you on his car, Keith?” Lance asks in a sultry voice, hands trailing down Keith’s back before stopping to tinker at the handcuffs. In a moment the locks open and Keith’s arms are free, coming forward to grip around Lance’s neck for support as the officer hoists him off the ground and places him on his back on the truck’s bonnet. “Do you want to ruin this car for him, have him find it splattered in cum and _know_ he can never have you again?”

As Lance speaks he’s bending down and nipping, sucking, at Keith’s neck, grinding his cock down into Keith’s to leave them both gasping.

“Please- please, Lance,” Keith whines, shuffling and squirming as he tries to find a way to lessen the ache of just how aroused he is. “Fuck me – fuck me, _please-_ ”

“What _manners!”_ Lance says teasingly, chuckling as Keith whines at his mocking tones. “Still,” He says, straightening up and running his hands down Keith’s legs, “You did say _please,_ I think that deserves a reward.”

Keith feels the excitement pool in his gut as he watches Lance straighten and roll a condom down his cock, thrusting into his hand a couple of times to keep Keith waiting. Lance’s hands grip the soft flesh below his thighs and manhandles him so that his knees are almost at his chest, his ass spread and presented as Lance comes closer-

It’s only the head of Lance’s cock, but as it sinks into Keith’s waiting heat his head falls back against the bonnet and he _keens,_ the relief of an elastic band snapping as finally – _finally –_ there’s a cock working its way inside of him. Lance doesn’t pause as he pushes his cock into Keith, both breathing a sigh of relief as Lance bottoms out, his hip bones flush with Keith’s plump ass.

“Fuck – you’re so tight,” Lance says, grinding his hips forward and getting his dick as deep as possible. “I thought you would be a loose, sloppy whore but your ass is clenching so tight around me. Does it feel good?” He asks, drawing further back to sharply thrust into Keith and draw a gasp from him. “Does my cock feel good, baby? You need a good pounding?”

As Lance speaks Keith can just hear the litany of pleas falling from his mouth, begging Lance for more, more, he needs-

Lance gives him exactly what he’s asking for, sharply building the speed and force of his thrusting until he’s jackhammering into Keith’s hole, holding one of Keith’s legs against his chest to keep him open and get as deep as he possibly can.

Keith can’t do anything other than lie there and listen to himself moan, his eyes rolling back whenever Lance hits _that spot_ dead on, the bastard seeming to avoid it on purpose and angle against it when Keith is least expecting it. It keeps him on his toes, every time he relaxes somewhat into the rhythm of pleasure his prostate sends electrifying shocks through his body and he screams, clenching tight around Lance’s cock from the extreme stimulation.

“Oh- you’re fucking perfect, Keith,” Lance moans, praise falling almost continuously as he fucks Keith’s willing hole. “So good, so good…”

“C-can-” God, stringing together a sentence was so hard as Lance pounded the sense right out of him, Keith struggling to focus long enough to ask, “Can I r-ride you-?”

Lance pauses for a moment as though to process exactly what it is Keith asked before his hands are at Keith’s back and he’s being flipped, Lance lying back against the truck’s bonnet and settling Keith above him.

Keith moves as soon as his knees hit the metal, ready to take control from Lance and set the pace he’s craving. Lance had thought he had set a pace difficult to keep up with, but as Keith begins to rise and fall he’s blown out of the water by how desperately he’s grinding down on Lance’s cock, fucking himself impossibly fast and using Lance as nothing more than a toy to get himself off.

And as he does so, his head is thrown back and he _screams_ as he rubs the head of Lance’s cock against his prostate. In the moonlight he looks beautiful, ethereal, as he rides above Lance and chases an orgasm.

“I-I’m close,” Keith gasps, pounding his hips against Lance like a man possessed. “Touch me, Lance touch me-”

Lance desperately wants to give in to those pleas, but despite the distractions he doesn’t quite forget the goal here. With ease he takes Keith and sets his feet back on the ground, spinning him and fucking against the truck with a hand stroking Keith’s cock in time with his thrusts.

It’s so much, it’s so _good-_ Keith can barely breathe as he feels Lance’s cock inside him, feels his thumb grinding into the tip of his cock. His toes are curling, his nails are scratching against sheet metal to find something he can hold onto for dear life as-

His head falls back with a noise that echoes out into the open space around them and the electric blue bonnet is splattered with cum, his orgasm so intense it’s almost painful as his eyes roll back and Lance fucks him through it, milking each and every drop from his cock onto the truck.

As Keith calms down Lance slows, carefully pulling out as Keith shivers from overstimulation. “You okay?” He asks, placing a hand to Keith’s trembling shoulder.

Keith nods weakly, peering back at Lance. “Why’d you stop? You’re not finished?”

“You did what you wanted to do,” Lance smiles softly, trying to stuff his still-hard cock back into his underwear, condom and all. “I’m fine-”

But Keith is slipping off the bonnet, avoiding the mess he made with a wrinkle of his nose, to return to his knees in front of Lance and take hold of his cock, pulling it back out and pumping its base with his hand as he rolls the condom off and throws it on the truck's bonnet.

Lance looks down at him with a surprised look as Keith presses kisses across his hipbones. “I want James to know I fucked someone on his truck,” He says breathily, his voice raw from the sounds Lance fucked out of him. “I want him to know I came here with someone that wasn’t him – I want him to know we’ve _claimed_ this stupid hunk of junk.”

And Lance can’t bear to argue as Keith’s mouth swallows him down, Keith sucking with a determined mindset now that his own arousal was taken care of. He services Lance like he’s designed for this, pulling Lance’s climax out of him whether or not he was ready for it.

As Lance seizes up to cum Keith pops of his cock and strokes him through his orgasm, making sure that his cum lands alongside his own and mixes into a white mess. As Lance came he had taken a firm grip in Keith’s hair again, holding tight to remain grounded in his body as an orgasm so intense it brought tears to his eyes wracked through him. He gasped for breath and spasmed as Keith gently licked his cock clean, only getting to taste a couple drops of cum left at the tip that hadn’t made it to the truck.

“Fuck…” Lance gasped, gently pushing Keith away as his oversensitivity turned the touches into too much to bear. He offers his hands to Keith and helps him stand, taking his jaw in hand to lead them both together for a deep kiss, Lance groaning as he tastes himself on Keith’s tongue.

“That was incredible,” Lance says, and Keith blinks in disbelief as he actually sounds _genuine._ “You’re unbelievable-”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Keith brushes off, bending down to retrieve his shorts and try to make himself look somewhat decent as he stands next to his _ex-boyfriend’s cum-splattered truck-_ “I’m a fun fuck.”

Keith is ready to disappear as fast as he can, well versed in one-night stand etiquette, before there’s arms around his waist and Lance is pulling him back in to pepper kisses at Keith’s neck. The weirdest part of all is that Keith _lets him-_

“You’re more than ‘fun’,” Lance promises. “That was…quite possibly the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Keith rolls his eyes, “Look, we’re finished now. You can drop the ‘praising’ crap.”

Lance stills, pausing in his mission to kiss every inch of skin on Keith’s neck to look at him. “It’s not crap,” He says, “It’s a genuine compliment.”

But Keith isn’t one for compliments: he’s one for quick, fun fucks before they both go their separate ways, one for being used and dumped, for being told what he wanted to hear in the moment to get them both off before forgetting it and moving on.

He is certainly _not_ one for his fucks being nice to him afterwards.

“Hey,” Lance says, loosening his hold and pulling Keith to face him. “I feel like some waffles – you in?”

Keith narrows his eyes at him, not entirely sure what his game is. “Where the hell are you going to get waffles at this time?”

Lance raises an eyebrow as though it’s the simplest answer on Earth. “You _have_ heard of cooking, right? I’m asking if I can make you waffles. I’ve got all the fixings: Nutella, bananas, strawberries, maple syrup-”

Keith bites at his lip, his instincts deep in his gut telling him to turn down the offer and go home. However, another area of his gut takes precedent as his stomach rumbles loudly at Lance’s offer and makes the decision for him.

Lance smiled impossibly wide as Keith nods that, yes, he will allow Lance to make him waffles, and before he quite knows what’s happening Lance is holding his hand in a firm but comfortable grip and leading them back down the road together.

“It’s not far,” Lance says, casting a side-eyed glance at Keith walking quietly next to him. “I can clean your knees up too, if you would let me? Sorry about the scrapes – they’re not deep, but we should clean them just in case.”

And, because Keith is wonderful at carrying normal conversations, he asks, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Lance gives him a weird look, not seeming to quite understand the question. “Do you want me to be mean to you?”

“Not really-” Keith admits. “But, this is just a one-time thing, right? Why are you putting in effort?”

Lance shrugs, answering easily, “I like waffles: you look like you’d like a waffle. I’d like to clean your knees since you strike me as the strong, silent type who’d stubbornly sit through an infection instead of taking care of yourself. And, if I’m being completely honest,” Lance grins, eyebrow rising suggestively, “I just had a lot of fun, and would love to make this a two-time thing, if not more.”

Keith considers his words, mulling over them before abating, “Three-time thing, tops. But if the waffles suck, I’m out the door.”

Lance chuckles, swinging their linked hands where they hang between them, “Sounds like a fair deal.”

Something occurs to Keith, and while he doesn’t want to be a downer and ruin this light feeling in his chest that making him feel so _nice,_ he has to ask, “So, we should maybe go clean up what we did. I don’t want to get you fired or anything-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Lance, we just left a _whole_ bunch of DNA back there,” Keith points out. “I’m not a huge fan of getting caught, and I’d rather not fuck up your life 5 minutes after sleeping with you-”

“I said you don’t need to worry about it,” Lance says again, sounding confident. “My friend is our lab analyst and she owes me _big._ I’ll just ask her if she can ‘misplace’ the sample and she’ll do it, no questions asked. Actually, she’ll probably _beg_ me to not explain any further.”

Keith blinks dumbly at him, not expecting this turn. “You’re a crooked cop?”

“No!” Lance exclaims, horrified that Keith would think so. “Of course not: my job is to prevent the miscarriage of justice. James wronged you so I was merely helping bring him to justice.”

“That’s a convoluted way to convince yourself you were allowed to fuck me,” Keith said. This makes Lance’s laugh, throwing his head back as his hand squeezes Keith’s in its grip.

“I can assure you, talking myself into a morally-grey area was definitely worth it,” He chuckles and draws a giggle out of Keith. “Try put him out of your mind: he doesn’t deserve you wasting your time on him anymore.”

“Put him out of my mind,” Keith says coyly, “So, what? I can focus on _you_?”

Lance wears a cheeky grin as he meets Keith’s eye, eyes lighting up as he says, “No – so you can focus on preparing yourself for a feast of deliciousness that is both delightfully crunchy yet with a soft, pillowy inside.”

“I think I prefer pancakes,” Keith teases Lance gasping loudly.

“Incorrect, Kogane! Number one, pancakes lack the _crunch,_ the _crisp!”_

“I was just saying-”

“Two! Waffles’ superior criss-cross pattern optimises topping-holding abilities and increases it’s surface area for heightened deliciousness.”

“Jesus,” Keith said with wide eyes, not having expected such passion from Lance over such a trivial topic. “I was just-”

“Three-!”

The rant continues until they make it back to Lance’s flat where Keith sits at the table while Lance rushes around the kitchen, absolutely aghast at Keith’s 'incorrect' dessert preferences. Keith has to admit, Lance’s waffles were pretty good.

Lance wakes up in the morning to find Keith making blueberry pancakes. He takes a single bite before glaring across the table and refusing to say a word against Keith’s smugness.

Keith takes that as a win.

**Author's Note:**

> Lol sorry that was probably a bit weird - my bad.  
> I just love the idea of Keith getting revenge. Even if its in such a weird way...  
> But the most important question still remains: pancakes, or waffles?
> 
> And BTW, the series is named after another EXCELLENT Carrie Underwood [song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mH9kYn4L8TI) so definitely go check it out!


End file.
